


Talisman [Neon Noir]

by passeridae



Series: Neon Noir [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Catholic Imagery, Character Study, M/M, Neon Noir Universe, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:07:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22599079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/passeridae/pseuds/passeridae
Summary: Jack and Gabe, and the talisman that binds them together. Set in petitecreame's Neon Noir universe."Jack keeps a small silver medal tucked into the chest pocket of his jacket."
Relationships: Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison
Series: Neon Noir [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1626139
Comments: 8
Kudos: 26





	Talisman [Neon Noir]

**Author's Note:**

  * For [petitecreame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/petitecreame/gifts).



> For petite, who is a gem, and who is lovely enough to let me play in her sandbox <3

Jack keeps a small silver medal tucked into the chest pocket of his jacket. 

Under the weight of kevlar and canvas he can’t even feel it, but he knows it’s there — right over his heart. He’s always kept that medal close, even before this new life of his, back when he was still with the police, and whole, and not yet set on his path of revenge. Gabriel was the one who gave it to him, originally — tucked it right into his chest pocket on his first day assigned to him, muttering something about Jack needing all the help he could get. Jack had been bemused at the time, not knowing what a little silver disc had to do with anything, but had also been too intimidated to ask. He hadn’t removed it, though. That had felt somehow wrong. The little metal disc had stayed with him just as steadfastly as Gabriel, through murder and shootings and all that the underbelly of the city had to throw at them; throughout it all it sat in his chest pocket, warm from the heat of his body. A little piece of Gabriel’s worry and care, keeping him safe.

He looked it up, once. Before everything fell apart. He hadn’t known that Gabriel had been Catholic, or if he still was, and hadn’t wanted to pry once he knew where the little slip of metal had come from. She was _Our Lady of Bonne Garde,_ the woman embossed on the disc, the protector of innocence in times of spreading corruption. Apparently this specific medallion was usually given to children, not adults, and Jack had been miffed by the implications of that particular titbit. He could take care of himself, he didn’t need to have his innocence protected like some Victorian maiden. But the gesture had been nice enough, he’d supposed, despite that. Looking back on how naive he had been, then, he can see why Gabriel had decided on it. Better that than Saint Jude.

Of course, when everything had fallen apart, that medallion was lost along with the rest of his life. But he’d been with it for so long, by then, that nothing was right without that weight. His heart ached at the absence. He couldn’t get Gabe back, could never replace him, but the medallion, well, that was something he could fix. Now, it serves as half a reminder of who he used to be, before all this. And half a reminder of why he’s pursuing this path.

* * *

Sometimes he loses his medallion, in a firefight or during a tumble out of a moving vehicle. While he’s distracted, or asleep, or in pain. It doesn’t happen that often, but vigilantes can’t be choosers, and whether it's through violence or theft, those little discs don’t stick around forever.

No matter how they vanish, though, it always hurts him just as much as the first time. Still pierces just as sharply into his heart. The day after the loss is always a bad one.

On that day, he goes to a church. It doesn’t matter which one, as long as it’s Catholic. The one he’s at today has trees growing around it, dappled sunlight falling on the courtyard out front. It doesn’t feel real — not part of _his_ city where it’s always dark and dirty, lit only by neon. It feels like a dream that somebody else is having. He’s merely trespassing.

He takes a moment to collect himself, to let the hurt fade to something bearable, then trudges through the gates. The church has little stalls set up, out the front, to one side of the courtyard. There, they sell devotionals. Rosaries, crosses, candles. Medallions. He looks over them, slowly, methodically, searching for one with the same image as the original, the one that Gabriel gave him so long ago. Some have cords, or chains, or ribbons attached to them. He’s had all those in his time; it doesn’t matter, in the end, what bauble it’s attached to. What matters is the medallion itself. 

When he eventually finds it, he runs his fingers over the relief, choked up, throat tight. He hands his money over to the nun with a tight nod. Often, that’s the end of things, but this time the nun tells him that she’ll pray for his child. It’s a sweet sentiment. He doesn’t tell her that there is no child, no innocence left to pray for, not anymore.

He walks back out the gates, leaving the dream behind. Heading back into the darkness and dirt that make up his life again. It aches. This life that he and Gabriel could have had, in another world. Instead, all he has left of the man is a scrap of metal, old scars that ache in quiet moments, and ghostly memories.

* * *

If the day after the loss is bad, the night is worse.

He tries not to sleep, for as long as he can; tries to busy himself in tracking and information gathering, and a million other little things. Increasingly, it’s just busywork, just mindless things to do with his hands to try and eke out another moment of wakefulness. But he’s only human, and eventually his eyelids start to flutter and his yawns become jaw-cracking in their intensity. He drinks as much coffee as he can before his hands start to shake, but it’s never enough.

He doesn’t have nightmares. That would be a kindness. No, instead his dreams are soft, tender things — him and Gabe lying in bed as the sun streams through their window, murmuring low in the soft golden light. Running his hands over coarse hair and soft skin, kissing Gabriel’s shoulders as he makes them both breakfast in their tiny kitchen. They never could afford anything better, but it was home, creaky chairs and all. Laughter, and warmth, and a loving murmur against his ear.

When he eventually wakes, on a grimy bed or a filthy floor in a dingy safehouse, it’s with tears on his cheeks and an ache in his chest so large he fears it will swallow him whole. Alone. Always alone. He clutches the medallion so hard that blood drips from his clenched fist, but it doesn’t bring Gabriel back. Nothing will.


End file.
